


Biscuits (but no Spilled Milk)

by Am (AmaranthineAmusement)



Series: The Wizarding Cookbook [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, I just wanted to write about mcgonnagall i'm so sorry, M/M, SHES JUST SO GOOD..., do you ever think about how many students she's watched die and just get sad, the ship is BARELY MENTIONED so sorry if you're here for hot spicy romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthineAmusement/pseuds/Am
Summary: Minerva McGonnagall has been trying her best to juggle all of the responsibilities of being headmistress while not letting her predecessors, and the school board, drive her to drink. When Severus Snape disappears from his portrait, where could he have gone? And is Harry Potter somehow involved (for it does, always, seem to be him)?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: The Wizarding Cookbook [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847053
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	Biscuits (but no Spilled Milk)

**Minerva’s Biscuits**

_Ingredients:_

  * 1 cup butter, salted
  * 3 Tbsp cornstarch
  * 1/4 cup white granulated sugar
  * 1 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
  * Icing of your preference
  * Cookie cutters, transfigured (metallic base objects work best)



_Instructions:_

  1. Beat butter with whisk until softened and much lightened. Mix in cornstarch and sugar. Add flour gradually, then add to icebox until significantly firmed up.
  2. Roll out batter until even and about the thickness of a wand tip.
  3. Cut out into shapes and place on cookie sheet.
  4. Preheat oven to low heat, then bake cookies for 30 to 45 minutes, until firm but not browned.
  5. Cool, then ice. Transfer to storage and let age for up to two weeks.



* * *

Minerva McGonnagall hadn’t made it to 68 by using magic for everything. She was a Scottish witch, and being a scot meant she valued the work of her own hands just as much as the work of a wand.

In front of the children, of course, she waved about and transfigured; but by herself, there were some tasks better served by hand.

Alone in her office, the door barricaded, she hitched up her robes, climbed on a chair, and turned her quill into a feather duster. The portraits, towering up above Albus’s - her- desk- regarded this with complete neutrality. They went through this every Saturday. Minerva was nothing if not a woman of efficiency.

The house elves, of course, had tried to protest; but Minerva Mcgonnagall always dusted the portraits, and she always baked her own biscuits. She had lived in the fully wizarding world for years, had chosen it, it was her home; but there were always some things that were better the muggle way.

She started at the top, working from the oldest to the most recent. The frames were mismatched, some more ancient than others, more ornate. Her personal favorite had always been Candice Longbottom, who only had a plain, unmarked wooden frame.[1] She never said much, which was refreshing, given the amazing amount of hot air the others could generate when Minerva was attempting to do paperwork.

A few brushes over the face of Phineus Nigellus, and a few more over a Malfoy, nameplate lost in whatever had left Albus’s office covered in broken glass a few years ago. Minerva was not a short woman, but she could barely reach the top.

She worked down, carefully focusing on the movement of the feathers. She had to set her mind into order. It was a long week approaching; the first game of the quidditch season, the mandrakes about to bloom, and yet another discussion with the school board.

Distracted as she was, she made it all the way to when she was dusting Severus’s desk- a neat, barren thing that rather indicated the portrait painter hadn’t realized the man’s natural messiness- without noticing that Severus was gone.

Minerva stared. She leaned in, eyebrows furrowing.

Was Severus- angry? He and Albus hadn’t spoken at all since she’d taken the office, just applauded when she accepted the signet ring.

Admittedly Minerva had been angry at him during the war, but, well, things had a habit of coming up to the surface. She’d already apologized, years ago.

She cleared her throat. “Severus!”

No response. Well, it had been a long shot anyway. She leaned back, looking over the other portraits. “Well? I don’t suppose any of you have something to say?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Albus opening one eye, but when she looked over at him he closed it again, faking a sleep like he had for the last three years. Something about how he avoided speaking to her hurt, like a knife in the ribs, but she had learned to ignore it. It had about as much of an impact as all of those stunners had.

“Hmph. Well. If anyone stops by, tell them I’m busy,” said Minerva, stepping down and straightening her robe, flicking the feather duster and feeling it turn back into a quill. She had a feeling that she knew who was behind this- or, at least, who had some idea.

She placed a gentle hand on her ledger- excessively well organized, and still needing some work tonight- before she took her hat off of the stand and pulled it firmly onto her head, straightening her spectacles.

There was no gargoyle to pass as she left the office through the stairwell. The statues were all on strike after her activity in the second war; privately, Minerva thought it was quite amusing. They probably enjoyed the courtyard more anyway.

“Evening, Minerva!” Sir Cadogen clinked loudly as he swung the portrait open. His horse had left again, but he still had his lance; he lifted it up in a wave. “Early night, eh?”

“Dealing with some administrative matters,” said Minerva. “If anyone comes round, send them up. I shouldn’t be long.”

With a bow, Sir Cadogen let the portrait swing shut. Minerva, after a second, said, “Please do refrain from challenging them to duels, as well, Sir Cadogen.”

“Well, I can’t say what will happen in the spirit of battle! After all-“ Sir Cadogen, who had been divorced three times, recognized the glimpse of steel in her eyes. He quieted. “Ah, of course. It’s all for fun anyway, Headmistress, you know that.”

The halls were supposed to be clear, hours past curfew. Minerva made sure that her shoes clicked loudly. She didn’t particularly enjoy explaining birth control to students caught out late at night, and she had house heads for a reason. If they weren’t clever enough to dodge when they heard her coming, they deserved a tonguelashing.

Thankfully, this time she only caught a brief glance of bright red hair around a corner as she made her way towards the lone room in the astronomy tower set aside for the newest professor. He’d requested a window so his snake could sunbathe.

“Harry,” she said, knocking sharply; “Are you decent? I’d like a word.”

A pause, some scuffling. Minerva looked upwards; Peeves was holding a cartoonishly large earhorn, floating up near the ceiling. When they made eye contact, he zoomed backwards.

A few seconds later, the door swung open. Harry Potter, looking like he’d just been through a wind tunnel, lifted a hand up to wave. “Er, hullo!”

The door had only been opened a tiny bit, presumably to conceal whatever was occurring beyond.

“Is this a bad time? I can come back later.” Minerva meant it, of course. But she would be bothered by the mystery until she had gotten to the bottom of it.

“No, no, of course not, just… grading…. papers,” said Harry. There was the click in the background; at the sound, he pulled the door open fully. He was dressed in robes, certainly, but they were a bit long for him; he stumbled briefly over the hem as he led her to the desk he’d set up in front of the window.

There were figures zooming about on the pitch; Minerva suspected the Hufflepuff team was practicing outside of permitted hours again.

Harry’s familiar, however, was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Jose?”

“Oh, er, I showed him the chamber of secrets, he’s in raptures over the basilisk skeleton down there, been spending all of his time down there” said Harry, and then paused. “Uh. Sorry if I wasn’t supposed to go in there.”

“If I expected my professors to follow every regulation,” said Minerva, “I would not have hired you.”

“Right.”

There was a sound suspiciously like a stifled laugh from Harry’s wardrobe.

Harry, desperately[2], cleared his throat. “So, erm, why are you here? I mean, what brings you to my office? I mean, my rooms?”

“There’s been some interesting developments with the portraits in my office,” said Minerva, and watched him. Albus had always favored a long stare, waiting for someone to crack. Minerva found that it was better to give people space to confess. “I thought you may be of some help.”

“Oh.” said Harry. “Which portrait?” He glanced towards the closet again.

“Severus,” said Minerva.

“Why do you think, er, I would know about it,” said Harry.

“I thought you may be able to help me trace his path,” said Minerva. “You were, after all, briefly in his mind.” She raised an eyebrow. “You also spend quite a bit of time with the son of a renowned, if newly established, portrait painter.”

“Yeah, erm, don’t know if I can help,” said Harry, loudly, over the sound of another rustling from the wardrobe. “I’ll let you know. Did you need anything else?”

“No, that should be all,” said Minerva. She stood up, brushing off her robes. She had told him the truth; she’d solved the mystery. Harry Potter was behind whatever this was, and thus she could trust him to either deal with it or reveal the issue when it was more pressing. “Do give your wardrobe a cough drop. I think it may be coming down with something.”

* * *

“Argus,” said Minerva, “I am never going to approve the usage of torture on students. It baffles me that you continue to hope.”

Argus Filch looked twitchy. “She hurt Mrs. Norris! She did! Left out milk with sleeping potion in it!”

“She is also fifteen,” said Minerva. “If you insist on torture, make her clean the divination classroom.”

“Not even letting students go into the forbidden forest anymore! Shameful!”

“We will resume scaring them with the forest when it no longer potentially contains Fenrir Grayback,” said Minerva. She sighed. “If you wish, you can send her up to me, and I’ll see if I can scare her into compliance.”

“I’d appreciate it, Headmistress,” said Argus. He seemed to be a bit calmer at the thought of Minerva taking action.

He stood up, hat in hands, and nodded to the portraits. “Albus thought about wakin’ up yet?”

“Nothing so far,” said Minerva. She cast him a glance too.

Albus let out a clearly fake snore. As Argus let himself out, Minerva opened the ledger, leaning back; but instead of doing any work, her mind settled on the portraits again.

Albus had been a friend. His loss hurt, deep down, but Minerva also was- well, she was angry with him. Setting Harry up to die? Hurting Severus, forcing him to kill his mentor? At least Severus had nodded when she spoke to him. Albus, whether afraid of being shamed or something else, kept his mouth closed.

“You know,” she said, “Your help would be appreciated, Albus.”

“Don’t worry, Minerva,” said one of the portraits. “He’ll come around eventually.”

“Hmmm.” She took a bite of one of her own biscuits. The batch had been a little burned, but she liked the flavor; these were in the shape of the sorting hat. The icing job, however, was a bit dubious.

Out of the window, the Hufflepuff team was practicing again. They were irritatingly good. One of the chasers did a flip, then flew back towards the captain, chastised.

She closed her eyes, feeling herself taken back to years ago…

* * *

_“Good Afternoon, Minerva.”_

_She was in the hospital wing. Minerva struggled to force her eyes all the way open. In the back of her mind, she could still feel the fall, the way she’d been elbowed in the chest, the look she’d exchanged with Parkinson, the way the wind had pulled her hair out of her bun- Pomona’s scream, all the way in the stands, too slow to do anything. The realization she wasn’t slowing._

_Now, in the brightness and warmth, she tried to swallow. Everything felt numb, drifting. Like the time she’d snuck behind the greenhouses and shared some gillyweed, watching as the shape of her fingers distorted and the air looked like water._

_The face of Professor Dumbledore looked down at her. Tawny hair and beard waved in the gentle wind from the open windows that Madame insisted on leaving open for health of the lungs. It was nice, in the summer. Cold, in winter. And a bit wet._

_Minerva felt the tangent her mind was going on, and felt very cross about it. Usually she was much more focused. “Professor?”_

_The word came out all slow and softer than she’d intended. A dull pain radiated from her legs, up her spine, to her neck. Very carefully, she wriggled a toe. Just to check if she still had one._

_Dumbledore unwrapped something out of her view; when he leaned back over, she saw that he had a hard candy in one cheek. “It seems that you are most well liked by your peers,” he said. “They were eager to send their well wishes, as well as a great deal of illicit candy.”[3]_

_Minerva didn’t bother to nod. The way to deal with Professor Dumbledore was to nod until he was done with his thought and then ask a question while he was still meditating upon his own greatness._

_“Did we win?” Her jaw hurt as it moved. Minerva suspected it was being skele-growed as she spoke._

_“No.” Dumbledore sucked on the candy, then said, meditatively, “But then, what is winning, at the end of the day?”_

_Nonsense. Minerva let it pass, but only because she’d been raised to respect her elders, and also because her jaw truly did hurt. The dreamless sleep was wearing off._

_Frustrated tears wanted to well up, but she forced them back. Just because it had been her last game didn’t mean that Gryffindor couldn’t come back, later._

_“Madame is confident that you will be able to return home at the expected time,” said Dumbledore. Madame, a scary French mediwitch who refused to tell anyone her name, was rarely wrong. “With, perhaps, a pair of crutches as a souvenir.”_

_Minerva gave him a blank stare to try and communicate how unamusing that was._

_“Ah, now, don’t seem too down,” said Dumbledore. “I assure you, I’ve left more than enough candy for you.”_

_Right. Minerva let her eyes rest on a tree, out the window. Her broom was probably gone. They were notoriously hard to find._

_“Upon my own graduation,” said Dumbledore, “I too had many plans that had to be… rearranged.” He swallowed. “In my case, due to the unfortunate death of my mother.”_

_Minerva let her eyes rest back on him._

_“Much as you may feel, I felt that it was massively unfair, and stifling my fun,” said Dumbledore. “But I found more than enough to enjoy, even back at home.”_

_“Like what?” Minerva didn’t gossip. She just… collected information._

_“True love,” said Dumbledore, simply. “I do believe I see Madame coming. Do me a favor and conceal my visit, yes? She seems to think I’m exploiting the ill.” He winked, blue eyes twinkling, as he left._

_Minerva watched him go, thoughtful._

* * *

Now, she watched the pitch, feeling the old breaks in the bones twinge at the thought of being at such altitude. She hadn’t been on a broom since. Mediwizard’s orders.

Oh, Albus. What did he think she was going to do?

When the chaser from Hufflepuff finally made a goal, Minerva stood up. She’d done enough paperwork for the day; Hagrid had been inviting her to tea for weeks, and she probably ought to stop by. Those scones were excellent for transfiguring into statues for her desk- they held shape remarkably well.

Pulling on her good tartan cloak, Minerva stepped out into a riot. The hall was filled with students. This was unusual; any student worth their salt knew to avoid the Headmistresses office. If you disturbed Minerva without a good reason to be there, she’d find a reason for you to be present.

“What,” she said, “Is going on?”

The students were at least six deep in every direction, shoulder to shoulder in a semicircle around Sir Cadogen’s portrait.

A voice piped up from the back that sounded suspiciously like Dennis Creevey. “Close the portrait, Headmistress! You’ll see!”

Well. She’d survived two wars. Minerva stepped back, holding her hat on in case it was another Weasley situation, and watched the portrait close.

A mostly naked Sirius Black whipped his robes over his head like a whip; Minerva watched as Severus raised Sir Cadogen’s sword. Sirius had apparently had a great number of prison tattoos; the portrait painter had included them under the robes.

They came together and clashed; a great cheer went up when Severus was initially pushed down, only for the crowd to boo when he kicked Sirius’s legs out from under him and rose up triumphantly.

Minerva closed her eyes and sighed. “Whoever fetches Professor Potter for me,” she said, “Will earn fifty house points. As for the rest of you; if I get anyone’s name, they will have detention from now until the rest of the year”

A vague stampede; in front of her, Severus tried to stab Sirius, but Sirius used his robes to tangle up the sword and pull it towards himself.

“Ha! You stiff, you thought that would work on me?”

“Violence is the only thing some people understand!” Was Severus’s response; Minerva understood his motivation, but she really wished he wasn’t shaming the office of Headmaster while he did it.

She watched them argue for a bit more.

“Open the portrait, if you will,” she said. Sirius froze; Severus did his best to appear nonchalant. “Well? My office is beyond,” she said. “If I’m not back by the time Professor Potter arrives, send him up.”

Sirius rallied. “Sure! Happy to be helpful, unlike this berk!”

“I’m sure we’re all impressed,” drawled Severus, who got headbutted for his efforts.

This time, when she climbed the stairs, she did it decisively.

“Albus,” she said, “If you do not stop pretending to sleep, Severus is going to succeed in his attempts to stab Sirius, and then I will have to explain to Harry Potter why the portrait of his godfather’s portrait is dead.”

A few seconds passed.

Then, like clockwork, a blue eye opened. “Well,” said Albus, “I suppose I can make a small trip. An old man needs his rest, you know.”

Minerva watched him go; he dusted himself off, casual, and left, not even so much as a hello to her. She wasn’t offended at all. To conceal any irritation, she poured three cups of tea, then sat back to wait.

When Harry finally stepped into her office, it was with a sheepish expression.

“Hullo, Professor.”

“Minerva.”

“Hullo, Minerva.” He sat down in the chair in front of her desk; behind her, she sensed movement. Albus must have been successful in his attempts.

“Have a biscuit.” Minerva had already served herself some tea. “I find myself suspecting,” she said, “That Sirius’s portrait did not somehow learn how to jump between residences.”

Harry’s sleeve rustled; a snake head poked out. Minerva slid Jose his cup of tea, leaving Harry’s next to the biscuits.

“To be fair,” said Harry, and then paused. “Well, I thought they’d just, er, yell at each other a bit.”

“So you didn’t expect your godfather, Sirius Black, to take off his robes and challenge Severus to a wrestling contest?” Minerva’s voice could have dried up an ocean[4]. She’d taken advantage of the last few minutes to speak to Phineus Nigellus, who was always well informed on portrait gossip.

“…yeah,” said Harry. He took a bite of the biscuit. “Sorry.”

“Well, at least we retain an interesting social life within all circles at Hogwarts,” said Minerva. “Had it been resolved?”

“I think they’ve come to a truce,” said Harry. “Something about guarding different areas of the castle?”

Minerva concealed a smile. “Good,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to explain the usage of tattoos in Azkaban to ward off dark thoughts and evil without a wand, historically and in a modern context, to your students, to help them understand Sirius’s… unique body tattoos.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Er, yeah, of course.” He paused. “I thought you’d be more mad, to be honest.”

“No,” said Minerva. “It’s been a pleasure, Harry. Do say hello to Sirius for me.”

“Of course.”

Harry stood up. “Was there anything else?”

“No, go on,” said Minerva. She watched the door close behind him; a chuckle came from behind her.

“Quite a good professor, isn’t he,” said Albus. “I always suspected.”

“I would have appreciated a hint a few years ago,” said Minerva. “Although I’m glad to know your portrait was done correctly.”

“I’ve always found it’s better to wait for people to come to you,” he said. His eyes twinkled. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to direct your work.”

“Ah, of course,” said Minerva. A little warmth bloomed in her chest. “Well, feel free to come forward with any other helpful tips. Your record-keeping was dismal.”

Albus tapped his nose. “Ah, but then the school board can’t make you account for the lemon-drop budget…”

* * *

“You know,” said Percy, sipping at his tea, “Professor Snape was always one of my favorites.”

“I recall you saying that about every professor,” said Minerva. They were at the ministry tuck shop; even though she no longer worked there, no longer had a spouse there, it still felt right for her to sit in the cafeteria, conversing with a lawyer and wincing at the quality of the tea.

“Well,” he said, grinning.

They had a strange sort of camaraderie; Minerva had only joined the Order after the first war, having stayed with the Ministry the first time around. She could sympathize with Percy. Sometimes the stress of a job made you forget to notice the world around you.

“Anyway,” he said, “It makes sense that Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t speak to you unless you really challenged him. He was always, er, a bit mad.”

“Yes,” said Minerva. “I suppose I was just trying to outlast him.”

As a pair, they gazed across the cafeteria. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had both bought drinks for the other and themselves, and were attempting to juggle four drinks between themselves. Minerva was looking forward to the wedding.

“So what exactly are they doing now? Have they fought again?”

“I believe they’ve come to a gentleman’s agreement,” said Minerva. “They think they’ve kept their plan to have a duel tomorrow night at midnight secret.”

“Oh.” A pause from Percy. “That’s not acceptable, is it.”

“I think I would have to stop it,” said Minerva. “As it is, however, I have no idea that it’s been planned. I think we shall just have to see how it turns out.”

Percy raised his eyebrows.

“I recall one of their few truces being focused on a dislike of Argus Filch,” said Minerva. She took another drink of her tea. “He may get a tip about a dungbomb.”

Shaking his head, Percy checked his watch. “No wonder Fred and George got away with so much.”

“One must encourage cleverness whenever one finds it,” said Minerva. She stood up. “Do let me know about any developments on the cauldron decision.”

“As if we’re going to make any progress,” said Percy. “Six years! This is driving me mad.”

“If it drives you mad enough, feel free to write me,” said Minerva. “We have an arithmancy position opening up in a couple of years.”

At Percy’s look of surprise, she just let herself smile. Albus had been right; you have to let people come to you.

* * *

* * *

[1] Longbottom had only lasted one year, a record, due to her assassination during the goblin wars. It had been seen as gauche to give her a frame made of gold, or, worse, goblin silver.

[2] It was eternally a mystery to Minerva how the boy could defeat a dark lord, and yet was not a particularly good liar when put on the spot.

[3] Candy was strictly forbidden from the hospital wing, under the opinion that it created weakness in young minds. Historically, no one listened.

[4] A talent she’d perfected while working at the ministry.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I said I might come back, and apparently I meant it XD
> 
> Recipe taken from seasons and summers: https://www.seasonsandsuppers.ca/dads-christmas-shortbread-cookies/
> 
> I know shortbread isn't meant to be frosted, but when I was a kid and reading the books, I always pictured them as frosted, so... WHOOPS. Enjoy anyway. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting!


End file.
